


Dust and Grit

by Masu_Trout



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Post-Mission, Prosthesis, Reformed Overwatch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 19:11:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8765539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: Hanzo might not get along with McCree, but that doesn't mean he can't offer a bit of help every now and then.





	

"You know, you could lend me a hand instead of just sitting and staring." 

McCree laughed quietly at his own joke while Hanzo drew back in annoyance. 

"I was not"—he snapped, then stopped. His temper would do him no good here, no matter how skilled this frustration of an ally was at drawing his ire. "Perhaps you would do well to work on your humility. You are not the only thing of interest here."

Hanzo was nearby, yes, and perhaps he'd been glancing over every so often, but he certainly wasn't _staring_. The morning sun was just beginning to rise over the red cliffs that surrounded their base; there were far more interesting things to look at than a washed-up former-and-partially-reinstated Overwatch agent.

"Ah," McCree said, a mocking laugh in his voice, "but you _do_ think I'm a 'thing of interest', then. Thanks for that, partner. Real kind of you."

Hanzo opened his mouth, ready to protest... but no, he had technically implied that, hadn't he? English was such an annoyingly imprecise language. He instead settled for scowling stormily at McCree; the expression was less of a threat these days, without the weight of his clan behind it, but he was still an imposing man.

"Seriously, though," McCree said, "if you do want to help out, I wouldn't mind it. It's hard to work one-handed."

Hanzo considered for a moment. It was tempting simply to leave, but... 

"Fine," he said, "what is it you need?"

"Great." McCree spread the fingers on his prosthetic hand wide— all except for the pinky, which remained half-curled against his palm. "I got some gravel stuck deep in there while we were scuffling yesterday, and now the stupid thing won't even stay flat long enough for me to pry the dirt out. If you could just hold it open while I work, I'd be much obliged."

Carefully, Hanzo leaned in and wrapped his hands around McCree's own. The metal was warm with the desert heat, even this early in the day, and surprisingly intricate; he could feel the thin seams of a dozen interlocking pieces against his skin. It took a moment, but eventually the offending digit began to slide back to join the other four. He watched as slim metal rods retracted and bearings twisted to allow the finger a full range of movement. 

Even as damaged as it was, the workings were still amazing. It was far better-made than any prosthesis on the market; it almost looked as though it could have been taken from an Omnic.

"Interesting, isn't it?" McCree asked. He'd procured a thin needle from somewhere under that cloak of his, and he ran it along the lines of each joint as he spoke.

"Fascinating," Hanzo admitted. "An incredible piece of machinery. Did Overwatch create it for you?"

They'd created at least one seemingly-impossible machine, after all. This seemed no different.

"Eh." McCree gave him a one-shouldered shrug. "Sort of. Their scientists came up with the original blueprints, back in the day, but I've been improving on it ever since. The design is mostly my own by now."

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. That was more intelligence than he'd expected of the man. "It is excellent craftsmanship. You should be proud."

McCree half-nodded, metal fingers flexing like he was only barely resisting the urge to raise them. Probably to tip his hat, Hanzo thought; it was one of the man's endless little affectations. 

"Well, you know. Made in America and all that." He smiled, then, and added: "I think I've got it now. You can let go."

After a moment, Hanzo realized that McCree had already put the small tool away and yet he was still clinging onto the man's hand. He snatched his fingers away with a muttered comment—even he wasn't sure if it was meant to be insulting or polite.

The metal fingers flexed and twisted as McCree tested his hand. This time, the smallest one bent with all the rest. "Perfect. And thanks, by the way."

Hanzo snorted. "It was my duty. Whatever would we do without that old-fashioned little shooter of yours protecting us out on the battlefield?"

"Says the man who uses arrows to fight."

" _My_ arrows are a work of cutting-edge technology. The form I use to deliver them does not change the damage they are capable of."

"Right back 'atcha. Doesn't matter how she looks, Peacekeeper's _reliable_."

Hanzo supposed he couldn't argue with that.

For a while neither of them said anything. It was a comfortable silence, though, completely unlike the tension that had filled the air before. He found that McCree's presence was almost pleasant, provided he didn't speak. The two of them stared out at the enormity of the great cliffs and canyons and watched the sun slowly bathe everything in vibrant orange.

When he'd first left Japan, following the trail of a brother he'd never dreamed could still be alive, he had expected to miss Hanamura. And, well—he did, desperately. The cherry blossom trees, the elegant buildings, the greenery and the water that always surrounded him... the loss of his hometown was like a physical ache sometimes.

Route 66 was beautiful in its own way, though. Certainly he'd never seen anything like it before. He was beginning to realize that America had its own charms, entirely separate from what he was used to.

Once the sun had fully risen over the cliff's edge, McCree looked over at him. "You want to go get some coffee? This early in the morning, I think we'll be the first to it."

Hanzo could barely resist making a face. "The coffee here is awful."

" _God_ , yes," McCree said. "Tastes like someone poured sandpaper and brine down your throat. But it's got caffeine in it, and that's what's really important."

Hanzo considered. Eventually, he nodded. "Lead the way."

Coffee would make a poor replacement for his usual tea even if it were a thousand times better-made than the swill they brewed here. But, he supposed, the company wouldn't be wholly unpleasant. At the very least, perhaps he'd get another chance to examine that fascinating prosthetic.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a bit of an odd reason for writing this one, haha, but I ended up really having fun with the fic and the pairing nonetheless. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
